My Blood Alone Remains
by Sage of Winds
Summary: As the princess of the kingdom torn apart by war, what do you do when the memories you lost are those you didn't want to remember? An opera-esque drama inspired by the works of Aleksandr Borodin.


" _I was a queen, and you took away my crown; a wife, and you killed my husband; a mother, and you deprived me of my children. My blood alone remains: take it, but do not make me suffer long."_

-Marie Antoinette 

The subtle tapping of light rain against the windows almost masked the rustling layers of her ball gown as she ran down the hallway. Her elaborate coiffure bounced wildly against the crown of her head, urging her to go faster.

 _You know its true, Robin._

Even after all this time, the tactician could not tell where the voice was coming from. Even though it sounded like it was in her head, it echoed around the walls of the hallway, as if it was right next to her.

She didn't know what she was running from. There was no sound of footsteps behind her, no shouts of rage as they gave away her position.

 _The truth is what you're running from._

Her foot caught on one of the layers of her petticoat and she gracelessly collapsed onto the ground. A cry of pain almost made its way to her mouth as she felt her ankle sprain. A sharp bolt of pain traveled up her leg as she tried to get back up again.

 _I don't have time for this,_ she nearly screamed as she leaned down to throw off her shoes. _I need to. . .I need to know for sure._

 _Oh? But don't you already know?_

"Quiet!" This time, her scream did escape. It came out ragged and desperate for air. "You know nothing!"

 _But I do. I am you. I was there._

No. This was not happening. She was the sole ruler of Ylisstol. She would not be found covered in sweat and yelling at the air like a madwoman. She needed to know if her suspicions were true. There was no possible way it could be, since she was tactful with her court play, but she needed to ease her nerves, and silence the nagging voice that followed her.

Limping now, the Exalt began her trek to Lissa's quarters. It was a ball night, and the princess would no doubt prefer to celebrate the Shepard's most recent victory with her and Gaius alone, but she would have to inconvenience them, just for tonight. It would take a while, considering that she would now have to lean against the wall for support, but she would get there.

Or so she thought.

After a few steps, a crippling bout of nausea took a hold of her stomach and she was forced to take a flying detour to her room. Her ankle ached in indignation, but she ignored the pain, concentrating on suppressing the bile rising in her throat. She threw the door to her room open, and lied face down on the bed, breathing heavily.

As the sickening feeling faded away, she sighed with relief. "See, no problem. I'll be alr―"

The angry bile rushed back again, and this time there was nothing that Robin could do but run to the bathing room adjacent to hers and vomit into the tub. The stench made her vomit again. . .and again. . .and again. . .

As the amount of food in her stomach slowly disappeared, and nothing was left expel, all that she could hear was her heavy breathing filling the room. It echoed tauntingly in the signature cold way that marble distorted sound. The corset under her dress was practically glued to her torso with sweat, and she could feel the curls of her coiffure falling all around her face. For what seemed like an eternity, all she could do was lean over the edge of the bathtub, absently looking at the vomit traveling down the drain.

Then, as if pulled up by a drawstring, she listlessly pulled herself up. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling back the loose curls. She wiped the sweat off her brow. She turned to the gold-framed mirror behind her. She saw a woman no better than a common whore, where a regal queen should have been. A weak giggle escaped between gasps of air. She leaned back as the giggle became uncontrollable, and soon her cackles were the only thing she could hear. It filled the room, her ears, her mind.

When she straightened, and looked at the reflection, she saw a woman with unrecognizable eyes, and a cold smile stretched across her chaffed lips. The echoing laughter grew in intensity.

 _See? I am you._

Robin awoke rapidly in a cold sweat to a room walled in bookshelves. For a moment, she was confused about her whereabouts, and straightened herself in a half daze while mechanically massaging her tired eyes. As she blinked them open, it all became clear: It was a nightmare. Again.

She groaned quietly as she fumbled around on the desk, trying to organize the mess of papers she had left scattered about on top of the foreign language book she had been studying last night.

 _Would it still be called 'last night,' even if you were awake since midnight?_ The former tactician mused to herself, gathering the papers into a neat stack and lazily placing them under an owl-shaped paperweight. She yawned drowsily. Rubbing her temples, she tried to resume her studying from last night on Valmese. Whether it was from tiredness or general restlessness she didn't know, but she just couldn't concentrate. The words blurred into unreadable symbols, and any meaning said symbols might have had went over her head, no matter how many times she would read them.

Her head flopped down involuntarily into the book with resignation. The pages carried an unpleasant trace of mold that wrinkled her nose. Sighing, she turned her head. Her half-closed eyes met with that of the unblinking paperweight's.

"It must be pleasant, not having to do anything but throw your weight around. Quite literally," she muttered.

There was, of course, no response from the stone owl.

"No one has to rely on you to do anything other than what you're asked of. You don't need divine powers of persuasion to convince anyone to do anything." Her heavy sigh fluttered the papers in front of her. "I don't even remember the last time I've slept. Do you? Well, I mean, of course, I slept just now since I've just woken up, but–"

She shook her head. "Now I'm losing my sanity and talking to inanimate objects. Lovely." Robin closed the book on her desk and stretched, giving another yawn. Wrapping her favorite velvet night robe tighter around her, she got up out of the chair began to walk towards the study window.

 _Maybe some fresh air will help me wake up,_ she thought, and yanked the panes open.

She was almost immediately greeted with a blast of moisture that tickled her dry throat, causing her to go into small coughing fit. Dense, gray layers of thick fog rolled like blankets over the capital, and neither the town below nor the sun was anywhere to be seen. Clearing her throat of phlegm, she removed her hands from her mouth and shut the window.

Never mind.

She began to walk along the bookshelf walls, absently scanning the shelves for anything that remotely interested her. I have to find something, she urged herself. I can't just sit around not doing anything–

There was a gentle knock at the door that surprised her just a bit too much. Running a hand through her hair as if to soothe the hairs standing on end, she called out a weary, "Come in!"

The door opened to reveal a pitiful excuse for an Exalt letting himself in.

"Oh. It's you." She deliberately looked away and pretended to be invested in searching the shelf in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she could see his reflection in the uncovered window, holding something.

"Good morning to you too," Chrom mumbled. "I figured you'd be here, so I brought you a some water."

"Is that supposed to be some sort of peace offering?"

He set down the glass on the desk and looked at her, crossing his arms. "I have nothing to make amends for."

"Oh _really_?" The tactician let the word drawl out, liking the way it played with her tongue.

"Robin, please, don't tell me you're still upset about that. It was moons ago."

"Time doesn't change anything."

"It's certainly changed you! We haven't slept together for. . . Gods know how long!"

She absently tipped a book towards her with one finger. "Are you honestly thinking that I would jump back into bed with you after what you've done?" She shouldn't have taken pleasure in it, but there was something perversely satisfying about watching Chrom turn red and fumble around with her response, and a small, gleeful smile weakly tugged at the corners of her lips.

"I-I didn't mean it like that! We don't have to necessarily do anything. I just. . . I get lonely. And sometimes I just–," He stopped himself. "Look, I'd really like it if you'd stop cooping yourself in here all day. The children are starting to worry. You don't have to even sleep with me anymore, if you really don't want to. Just walk around, get some sun. We're worried about your health."

When his wife didn't reply, the Exalt sighed. "Robin, I had my reasons."

She felt an inkling of remorse for the stress she had put everyone through, and the trickle of emotion was enough the crack her facade. Pushing the book back into her shelf, she turned back to him.

"How are the children," she asked

"It's weird, little Lucina is nothing like herself from the future. All she wants to do everyday is go into the garden and make herself and her caretakers flower wreaths. Fredrick no doubt collects them and hides them in a secret stash somewhere," he chuckled.

A light smile successfully crept upon Robin's lips as well.

"She also pesters the dressmaking ladies to make 'princess dresses' for her, so she can wear them during her play times."

"I assume you've told her that she can't bother those poor ladies and their hard work."

He looked offended. "I'm not going to ruin her fun. They seem to be able to manage making their orders and Lucina's requests decently."

"You're going to spoil her rotten. You're a failure as a parent." Her teasing only carried a hint of truth.

Chrom rolled his eyes. "Her older self, anyway, is intent on staying here. She says that she has a duty to protect the family since Grima was only sealed."

"And just whose fault could that be?"

Before he could think of a comment on her abnormal mood swing, there was another knock at the door. He frowned. "Who could that be, this early in the morning? Yes," He spoke up. "Come in!"

The door creaked open to let in a nervous looking maid who curtsied clumsily. "Y-Yes, your highness. I am deeply sorry, but th-there is a foreign diplomat here to see you on a very urgent matter."

Chrom opened his mouth to speak, but Robin butted in. "I wasn't expecting anyone." Biting her lip in consideration, she began to straighten out her clothes, looking for a shawl or anything that would make her look more decent. "Who is it?"

"She hails from Plegia."

Exalt and tactician exchanged glances.

"There's no way," he whispered.

Robin thought the same quietly to herself as well. "No matter," she voiced. "Tell her to drop all weapons she might have on her, and let her in."

"Very well." The maid curtsied and left the room.

A moment later, the dark flier took her place. Her sense of fashion had not changed one bit since they had last seen her. A cape of cormorant feathers, wrapped around her shoulders and trailing to the floor, shined in every color of black, green, and blue imaginable, despite the dim light in the study. Her nails were painted a jet black, probably to match the color of the mink fur lining the top of her corseted dress and boots, which made a commanding thump as they hit the ground with each step of her strut. The golden armor which usually protected her sides was now replaced with a heavy looking gold and ruby stone necklace draped around her neck. To say she was overdressed was an understatement.

"Lovely weather today, isn't it," Aversa's voice still carried that mocking tone. "It seems Ylissean climate is something to be envied."

"Cut to the chase, Aversa," Chrom impatiently growled.

The tactitian resisted the urge to slap some sense into him. "That's no way to treat a guest, _darling_. Do try to have a little more tact."

"Oh my," Aversa covered her mouth in mock concern when she saw the Exalt turn sharply to his wife. "Did I come at a bad time? I thought the three of us could sit down and talk. Just like old times. Look," she lifted her free hand into the air as the familiar hum of teleportation magic filled the room. A small dark pouch materialized. "I even brought the finest Plegian black tea as a peace offering. To prove I mean no harm."

Pressure began building up at the bottom of her temple, and before she new it, a nagging headache began to form between her eyes. Robin instinctively grabbed for the bridge of her nose, causing her husband to look at her in concern. "It's alright, really" she waved her hand, "Call in the maid."

"But Robin–"

"Call in the maid, Chrom. Tell her to bring in the tea set."

He sighed. "I'll be right back." With one last unreadable glance at the dark flier, he left the room, returning close to a heartbeat later.

"She'll be here soon."

Uncomfortable silence filled the room as the three waited. Aversa sat herself down in the couch in front of the desk, and Chrom traveled further behind his wife to find a seat next to the window. Like a clock, he tapped his foot rhythmically against the floor, like he always did to ease his nerves, and just as Robin was about to tell him politely as she could to stop, the maid rushed in with the china.

She deliberately avoided meeting Robin's gaze as she took the tea bag from the Dark Flier's hand and prepared the tea, a fact that Avera seemed to notice but made no comment of. The tactician felt her cheeks warm under her gaze and wished she could just hide in the fold of her robe. Like divine intervention, however, the maid had finished a moment later.

"I hope my work is to your liking, your highness," the maid curtsied, looking at Chrom.

He sighed. "Yes, it is. Carry on now."

As she left the room, all Robin could do was look away in humiliation.

Silence.

Aversa took a dainty sip of her tea before speaking. "I suppose 'I should cut to the chase,' seeing as you two are in such a hurry. And while I would absolutely love to talk to some old friends, in truth I've come to deliver a message."

The tactician reached for her cup. "And what's that?"

She lifted her eyes from the cup. "The death of Validar has left Plegia without a ruler, and our religious leaders are humbly asking for the last remaining heir to ascend to the throne."

Her vague words left Robin more than a little confused until she realized exactly what she was implying. Her hand fell instantly. "No. Absolutely not."

Chrom looked at her in disbelief.

"I have no wish to involve myself any further with Plegia," Robin stately announced, successfully masking her silent screams of horror. "Surely, the Grimleal would understand my reasoning."

"Oh, I wouldn't know. I left their ranks months ago. They simply told me to relay what I've been told, and I've done so."

"Why won't you take the throne? You were Validar's most trusted, from what I've heard."

"Tsk tsk, please don't remind me. But yes. As much as it pains me to remember, I was his most trusted. But only that. Reign over Plegia is reserved for those who have the blood of the divine dragon Grima in their veins. Blood that, as far as I know, have none of."

"Calling that. . .that thing," Robin spat, "any word that resembles 'divine' should be blasphemy."

A smile played on Aversa's painted lips "Don't let the Grimleal hear that." She took another sip, then suddenly set it down as if she had been called. "Well, seeing that I've said what I needed to say, I suppose I'll take my leave. Keep the tea. I've had plenty in my lifetime."

The dark flier got out of her seat and played with one of the loose strands of hair from her updo. "Oh, and I almost forgot," she fiddled around in the folds of her cape and pulled out a parchment envelope sealed with a wax and gold seal, pushing it towards the tactician. "Plegia always welcomes you with open arms." With the same smile still on her lips, Aversa left the room.

As soon as both feet were out the door, Robin grabbed the envelope and tossed it into the waste.

"What are you doing?" Chrom exclaimed.

"'What am I doing?' What do you think I'm doing?"

"You're throwing away your chance at being royalty. Of being looked at seriously by the councilmen! Of seeing your family again!"

"Don't you dare try to play with my emotions, Chrom." Her headache buzzed. "My father we both know is dead for sure, and my mother was most likely killed as soon as managed to send me somewhere safe."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Chrom–"

"Just listen to me, Robin. If you take this chance, you'll be queen of Plegia. You'll finally be placed on the royal pedigree, you'll finally be exalted, and through our marriage, you can unite the two biggest kingdoms on this continent. What is there to hold you back?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that I almost destroyed everyone's lives the last time we involved ourselves with them? Or maybe the fact that it's because of that damned kingdom that one of my daughters looks at me with fear?"

"What are you. . . Robin, Lucina doesn't fear you."

"I killed her father. It was because of me that she had to learn how to fight as soon as she could pick up a sword."

"That's not true and you know it."

"Then why does she flinch when I try to touch her?" The tears came to her eyes before she could stop them. "Why does she run to you, when she always keeps me at a distance?"

"Oh, Robin," Chrom sighed. Before she could pull away, he had wrapped his arms around her in a firm embrace. He rocked slightly from side to side while whispering in her ear. "You know that's not true."

She sniffled. "I still have nightmares about it. I hate going to sleep."

"Is that why you're in here all day, studying?"

She nodded. "It keeps me awake."

"Why didn't you tell me then? You didn't have to suffer alone," he leaned his head craftily over to her ear and gave a little nip. "And you know I can help you stay awake."

That earned him a swift club on the ear. "Ow!"

"And this is why I hate you." She had tugged free from his grasp, and pretended to straighten her robe and hair. Yes, Chrom was the best husband she could ever ask for. He was too forgiving for his own good, wore his emotions on his sleeve next to his brand around her, and his secretly romantic ideals were what made him order the Shepherds to hold her down on that fateful day, and prevent her from dealing the final blow to Grima.

And yet, despite all that idiot's faults, she loved him.

She ignored the irritable glare he gave her. "And how's Morgan, dearest," she asked, grinning. "Oh, and do call someone in to clean up this set."


End file.
